


Opposing Tides

by GrannyBoo



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Commander!Caleb Widogast, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Marooned, Mention of Gags, Oral Sex, Plank King AU, Plank King!Fjord, Rimming, Sexual Content, enemies to hate-fuckbuddies to tolerance to lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-09-02 11:01:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16785643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrannyBoo/pseuds/GrannyBoo
Summary: Oh hiatus, sorry everyone <3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my new shitshow, hope you all enjoy it, there'll be art for it (along with a couple pieces already out under the tag 'rival castaways au') on my artblog, Oakyboo, feel free to check it out, comment below or however you'd like to interact with the fic. <3

**_ Chapter One _ **

Salt.

It was a familiar smell, along with the sensation of waves lapping at his bare feet, slowly enveloping more and more of his legs. Sunlight warmed his skin, hovering at the edge of burning as it always did for his green-hued skin, the sand a familiar texture beneath his fingertips. He blinked against the offensive light of the sun when he did finally open his eyes, seeing swaying palm leaves at the edge of his vision and specks of clouds littering the otherwise clear blue sky.

The moments leading up to him lying on an unfamiliar beach were hazy. He recalled meeting with his seconds in command, the empire’s planned attack on Darktow, the order for his head to be brought to Rexxentrum, attached to his body or not.

He took stock of his situation. Entire body aching, areas that would likely be tender and heavily bruised for a few days. One particularly painful spot just below his ribs, circling towards his back that he’d need to check over; but in a single piece, thank the gods. He pushed himself up, hands burying themselves in the sand a little under his weight but he managed to at least get himself to a sitting position. The beach surrounding him was littered with debris; chunks of hull and mast peppered in amongst the seaweed and driftwood. Some he recognised. He knew the build of The Wandering Siren down to the grain in the base of the hull. The rest he was unfamiliar with, but a bundle of canvass bore the colours of the Dwendalian Empire.

Right.

He went out to meet them.

Rather than risk the civilian residents of Darktow or the pirates who hadn’t cracked under his strict guidelines, he’d taken the Siren out to meet the Dwendalian ship head on. One ship. Not a fleet as he’d been expecting. Honestly it was more a boat than a proper ship. Barely a crew of five at most with a flash of red hair and a flapping blue coat at the bow. Commander Widogast. A War Mage from the empire, a destructive force to be reckoned with who was, if rumour had it, one assignment away from taking over as High Commander. Answering only to the General of the Dwendalian military and King Dwendal himself. If he was going to have any chance of minimising casualties, he would have to meet the man in the sea. In his territory.

As the ship had rocked beneath his feet and the wind whipped at the sails, there’d been a flash of fire emanating from the blue-clad figure, completely enveloping their ship, and his crew had responded in kind; the ringing of cannon fire no longer in his ears but the memory was still there as chaos took over the small stretch of sea between the Siren and the Dwendalian vessel.

‘Fucking mages,’ rolled through Fjord’s mind, taking a brief moment for silence for the souls that wouldn’t be returning to Darktow as they were consumed by fire or sent to the bottom of the sea.

“Ngh.”

A grunt of pain caught his attention from a little further up the beach. The land was unfamiliar. A small island, the central section with a thick enough thicket of trees to block out the view of the opposite side. The beach stretched on, curving around; it would probably take half a day to walk the entire circumference of the island. Interspersed between the browns and charred blacks of the ship debris spotting the golden sand was a flash of red hair and a sodden blue coat.

“Fuck _me_.”

Fjord stumbled as he stood, trudging his bare feet through the burning sand towards the subtly moving body. He was coughing and seemed as bruised and battered as Fjord was, but otherwise alive.

“Hey. Get up,” Fjord nudged at the man with his foot, looking him up and down. He was shorter than Fjord expected. The thought was banished from his mind when the sodden Dwendalian lashed out, sweeping his leg out from beneath him and throwing him to the ground. Before he knew it, the man was on top of him, pinning him to the ground with what small amount of weight he had and, with one hand forming complex arcane gestures, the other grabbed something from a pouch at his belt, the energy sparking, centralising around a small stone and a pinch of something between his fingers, now firmly pressed against Fjord’s chest. The man panted, pink lips parting around each breath, blue eyes narrowed viciously through a curtain of russet hair with a dusting of freckles over his effort-reddened cheeks.

Fuck, he’s beautiful.

“Captain Tusktooth, current ‘Plank King’ of the pirate island of Darktow,” the man practically spat the title at Fjord with his heavily accented voice, rough from swallowing too much seawater. “You are wanted for crimes against the Dwendalian Empire, including theft, damage of empirical property, murder,-“

“Hey, ain’t a soul I killed that wasn’t in self-defense.”

That seemed to throw the man off a bit, face blanking out in surprise but he shook it off and continued his list, which (barring the absurd and erroneous charge of ‘murder’) were definitely crimes of which Fjord would be considered guilty.

“You have two options, _seeräuber_. You die here on the beach and I take pieces of you back to King Dwendal. Or you come with me willingly and be tried for your crimes against the Empire,” the man’s look of vicious determination shifted into confusion when Fjord started smiling. “Why? Why are you grinning like a fool?”

“’Cause,” he retorts, summoning his falchion just at the edge of the man’s view, drawing his attention away just long enough to smack his hand away, the stone flying over the sand and landing with a _plop_ into the slowly encroaching waters of the sea. Panic overtook the irritation as he’s thrown to the side and Fjord pins him to the ground in turn, the falchion’s blade pressed against his throat. “You should know better than to leave a man’s hands free when he’s that close to you. All manner’a _nasty things_ he could do in the few seconds before you disintegrated him. If it even worked.”

“How-“

“I’ve dealt with spellcasters before, this ain’t the first time I’ve had a lodestone stuck in my face,” Fjord presses the blade in a little closer so the edge bit into the man’s skin if he breathes too hard. “Commander Widogast, I presume? Rumour has it you’re the next High Commander. How’s that last assignment workin’ out for you?”

The man says nothing.

“Fine. Gonna have to declaw you. Want to eliminate as many nasty surprises as I can,” Fjord ignores the indignant squeak (as best he can because that is _just charming)_ as he undoes the secondary belt securing the pouches to the commander’s hips, throwing it as far as he can into the water. Widogast let out a slew of what had to be obscene curse-words at him in his home-tongue, flinching involuntarily when the blade against his throat shifted, eyes closed and breathing rapid in preparation for death…

Fjord enjoyed the look of confusion when instead of his throat being slit, the weight lifted off of the Dwendalian commander and the blade vanished altogether. When the commander opened his eyes again, he saw Fjord, strolling along the beach towards the largest pile of wreckage where the encouraging glint of metal hinted at supplies that survived the destruction. He could hear Widogast scramble to his feet, the clink of buckles and the rasp of fabric shifting.

The commander snapped the cord around his neck holding a small piece of crystal? Glass? It was only a split second he had to examine it before a burst of snow and frost exploded from it in his direction.

He felt the biting cold surround him, forcing the breath out of his lungs in surprise. Sneaky bastard. The commander held the spell as long as it would last, releasing when his hands started to go numb. The snow and sleet dissipated and, to his surprise, where the Plank King had been standing was empty, only a small indent in the sand where he had been and a rapidly dissipating plume of purple and black smoke. By the time he noticed the presence behind him, it was too late.

Fjord wrapped an arm around the Dwendalian, pinning his arms to his sides and pressing the falchion back to his throat.

“Lose the spell shit,” his voice was a growl in the commander’s ear, his patience on paper-thin ice. “Or lose your hands. Your choice.”

“How did you do that? You have no…”

“I don’t feel like answerin’, I’m pretty _fuckin’ cold_ and uncomfortable and if you don’t drop _every single thing_ on your skinny little person that lets you do magic, I will have no choice but to cut you to pieces and use you for bait,” Fjord’s threat settled and he felt the red hair brush against his face in a curt nod. He released his hold on the man, keeping the falchion pressed against his skin as he took careful steps around until he was facing the commander. Fjord jerked his head in the man’s direction, a silent ‘get on with it’ and Widogast relented, going through his pockets and removing various bits and bobs, pulling out his pockets to show they were finally empty.

Another jerk of the head.

“I have no other components!”

“Then forgive me for bein’ cautious. I’ve never been very good at pickin’ out liars and I’ve been burned enough times to just plain out not trust anyone on just their word. Coat off,” he ordered.

The coat hit the ground with a damp thump, waterlogged and collecting grains of sand all over the no-doubt expensive fabric. Fjord spun his finger in the air until the commander finally got the message and turned around slowly on the spot, arms raised and lips curled in a sneer.

“Good. Now. Back up.”

He acquiesced, 60ft or so away as Fjord took out a small vial of oil tucked away in a pocket in his armour, pouring the viscous liquid over the components, making sure the coat was kicked away from the little pile. The smell of the chemical burned his nose in the few seconds before he snapped off his own necklace, a flint and steel mechanism one of his underlings designed, and set the entire pile alight.

Widogast made an aborted noise of protest, snarling something in his own language.

“Yeah, yeah. Bitch to the empire, they’ll care more than I do,” Fjord tossed over his shoulder as he made his way over to the remains of the ship. The dwendalian seal was stamped all over the supplies, some crates cracked and leaking anything inside that might have been of use but a few of them were still sealed.

“What are you- _those are Empire property-_ “

“Look at all the fucks I give,” Fjord waved his arm, showing off his imaginary fucks, chuckling to himself at the look of outrage. “Can’t have read your dossier very well if you think I’m gonna care that it’s got a label. Supplies are supplies, and stranded is stranded. And if you wanna eat, you’ll stop giving a shit as well,” he gave the man a pointed look, receiving an unreadable one of his own in reply.

-

A quick inventory of the supplies (with no help from the commander who seemed intent on not coming within 30ft of Fjord), showed they had enough supplies for two people to last for a week, a little longer if they rationed heavily. The pirate let out a quiet sigh of relief when he found a pair of boots, good condition and mostly dry, that would fit him. He pulled them on while counting out the rest, chewing slowly at a piece of jerky.

Four blankets, six vials of lamp oil, two lamps (one of them shattered but still functional), the food, someone’s pack with a change of clothes and loose papers (the clothes wouldn’t fit him by a mile but they’d likely fit the skinny bastard glowering at him from across the beach if needed), and nearly 80ft of rope. Along with the pieces of mostly intact canvas sails, they were looking pretty good. It took him nearly twenty minutes to relocated everything from the wreckage over to the edge of the palm tree grove, taking half of the rations and separating it from the rest.

“What are you doing?”

Fjord glanced over his shoulder. 25ft away from him. A new record.

“I’m allocating rations. Careful how much you eat, not sure how long ‘til someone realises we’re here. Or if there’s anything edible on this island.”

“I meant why are you splitting them?”

It was Fjord’s turn to be confused. He turned at the waist to look the other man up and down; looking like a sodden otter in his breeches and white shirt, blue coat tied around his waist. Fjord took note of the bandages running up and down the man’s newly exposed forearms but didn’t linger on them too long, returning his focus to the man’s face.

“You eat, don’t you? King Dwendal hasn’t taxed that outta people yet, right?”

Widogast didn’t answer, he just watched while Fjord divvied up the supplies and then split off, setting up a camp just a ways down the beach from where the other man was standing, looking nothing like the threatening military commander he was meant to be.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the massive positive response everyone! I hope you all like this AU, feel free to comment, or hit me up on various social media (i'm Oakyboo on twitter and tumblr) <3

**_ Chapter Two _ **

Fjord had limited patience. Vast amounts more than his predecessor (who not only enjoyed murder but found excuses for it at every turn until Fjord had no choice but to relieve him of his position as Plank King), but there were always limits.

They had been tested when his underlings set fire to his ship with fireworks they’d smuggled in from their home city of Nicodranas. When they burned holes in the floor of his meeting room with acid and covered it with a rug, feigning innocence when he hobbled in an hour later after falling in. There’d been a dozen prostitutes left in his room for him to ‘unwind’, tea-stained documents from carelessly placed beverages, furniture smashed into pieces with both parties declaring innocence.

But nothing truly tested his patience like listening to Commander Widogast try and fail to set up a tent.

They’d been on the island for two days and Fjord had set up his sleeping arrangements within hours of arriving, focusing on increasing the amount of food they had. He’d been fairly successful, finding that the island was home to a species of pig and some sort of flightless bird he didn’t recognise but was easy enough to round up in a pen by the camp so they could keep a sufficient stock of eggs and meat once their rations ran out.

It had taken those two days for the Dwendalian commander to try and fail no less than a dozen times to pitch a tent with the supplies Fjord left aside for him. It was amusing at first. Then irritating. Now, as he started his thirteenth attempt, it was downright infuriating listening to the man curse and complain to himself in what Fjord finally recognised as Zemnian, dropping the support sticks he had in his hands while he tried to bind them together.

Fjord gave up staying in his own space and stands up, stalking over to the commander’s campground, ignoring the shout of offense and surprise as he nudges his way in to where the canvass and sticks lay uselessly on the ground. It took him ten or so minutes to build something sturdy enough for the man to sleep beneath, tossing the two blankets he’d left for him into the tent. He doesn’t look at the commander as he goes to return to his own tasks.

“I could have-“

“Sure you could.”

Fjord doesn’t pay him any mind as he goes back to fashioning an axe from grass roots, branches, and stone but he could practically feel the man’s eyes on the back of his neck while he worked. He takes a deep breath and releases before he speaks.

“What?”

“…Nothing.”

They don’t speak for the rest of the day.

-

Commander Widogast is not shy about calling him all manner of names on the rare occasions they do speak to each other. Fjord doesn’t pay it much mind. He’s heard the majority of them before and far worse from others and they didn’t bother him then, so hearing them from a pompous dictatorship apologist bothers him far less than the other times he has heard it.

But as he’d learned, his patience when it comes to this wilfully ignorant, walking poster boy is thin as ice.

It takes eight days for him to break.

Eight days of being called ‘shady’, ‘lawless’, ‘pirate-scum’. He even went so far as to draw a line in the sand between their camps, ‘to ensure boundaries are established. Not that you will adhere to them, pirate’.

But Fjord paid it little mind and kept mostly to himself, Widogast finally managing to collect his own food from the grove, fruit, nuts, the occasional root vegetable, didn’t need Fjord’s collection of food after the supply from the wreckage trickled to nothing. The Dwendalian was feeling brave, taking the fact that Fjord wouldn’t cross the newly drawn line between their camps as a show of…cowardice? Weakness? He wasn’t sure but as soon as those words on the eighth day dripped like bile from the commander’s lips, Fjord had _had it._

“It is hard to believe you do not incur more damage wherever you go. Murderers and monsters that you are.”

As soon as the words leave Widogast’s mouth, Fjord is on his feet, his falchion manifesting in his hand with a crackle of arcane energy and he storms over, kicking up sand as he ignores the line he’d been so careful to avoid and crosses over it, looming over the other man with his superior height, watching him try to stand tall but he could see it; that flicker of fear in his eyes.

“If I killed with no remorse like the piece of shit you seem to think I am, then _why are you still alive?_ ” Fjord snarls, the hand wrapped around the grip of his falchion shaking with rage while Widogast looks up at him, frozen in spot and cheeks growing red in embarrassment, anger, Fjord doesn’t give a single shit as he tries to quell that little voice in the back of his head that tells him he could _make an exception to his rule. Just once._

Widogast’s lips open and shut like an air-drowning fish, trying to scrounge for a reply but Fjord crowds in that little bit closer, so the human’s eyes dart back and forth between his and their chest brush together when either of them breathe too hard.

“No weapons, no magic, barely able to take care of yourself, and you’re _still breathin’_ because I don’t _like_ to kill. I kill when I have to and only then,” his hand is still shaking when he waves it to dismiss the blade, keeping his eyes on Widogast’s face while his dart to the empty space where it had been, then back to Fjord’s eyes. “So maybe, for just two seconds, _shut your fuckin’ mouth_ and think about all the times this _monster_ could have killed you and just done away with the piece of shit comin’ after my head because he only believes what he’s _told_ , and _maybe -just maybe-_ you’ll realise, what you think of me might not be the truth. You know, when you wake up for the ninth mornin’ in a row without a slit throat.”

He storms away, ignoring the quiet noise from behind him. He needs to burn this off. He pauses by the edge of the grove, looking towards the trees, then towards the water. He starts removing his clothing, leaving it in a pile in the sun as he walks into the surf.

“Where are you going?!”

Fjord pauses, the water barely up to his ankles. He lets his head fall back and breathes out a long sigh.

“I’m goin’ for a swim.”

He can hear the other man kicking up sand as he comes a little closer, keeping away from the edge of the water and staying on his side of that _stupid line_. He says nothing and Fjord turns to look back at him, feeling a little bad about the lost look on the man’s face but still needing to tamp down that anger rolling around in his chest.

“Its not like I’m leavin’. I’m just goin’ for a swim in the reef. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“I…I apologise,” Well that was a surprise. “I have been…unfair. You have done nothing to my person to warrant my…vitriol.”

“Tch, you think?” Fjord scoffed, groaning audibly at himself. Even against empirical assholes sent to kill him, he can’t seem to hold a grudge. He waves a hand at the other man. “Aaaalright. Apology accepted. Now go on back to camp, you’re gonna turn into a tomato in a few seconds. Pasty bastard,” he mutters under his breath as he continues on to the water.

“Wait! Where are you going?! I apologised!” the man sounds almost _panicked_ and it throws Fjord for a moment. His blue eyes wide and hand reaching out futilely since he seems unprepared to take that step into the damp sand where the sea laps at the shore. As if it physically repelled him.

“And I still wanna go for a swim. You’re welcome to join me.”

He feels a little self-conscious as Widogast’s eyes trace over his body, a moment of something that looked like temptation passing over his face for just a split second before the commander shakes his head and takes a step back, eyes darting at the water.

“ _Nein_ , I am-…I will stay here.”

“Suit yourself,” Fjord shrugs and takes a few loping steps further into the water before stretching his arms out and diving under, the brief shock of cold against his sun-warmed skin pleasant and relaxing. He comes up for air for air, wading in the water and getting his bearings by finding the beach, where the commander is still standing, hesitant to return to the camp. Fjord sticks a hand out of the water and shoos him off but the commander seems intent on remaining where he is. Widogast eventually sits down in the sand, untying his cloak from his waist and throwing it over his head in an improvised shade, making Fjord snort in the water, waving at him before diving under.

-

When he returns, muscles aching in the best way and body heavy as he trudges up from the surf to the sand of the beach, Widogast is still sitting there, coat over his head and Fjord’s clothes in a neat pile beside him. And the line that had been dividing their camps was kicked away, leaving divots in the sand and some places where he seemed to try to smooth it out.

Fjord doesn’t comment as he collects his clothing, chuckling to himself when he see the commander looking pointedly away from his bare skin while he dresses. But he does give the smaller man a firm clap on the back (delighted at the muffled ‘oof’ as he pitches for a little) and proceeds back to the camp, checking on the birds.


	3. Chapter 3

**_ Chapter Three _ **

Commander Widogast’s attitude towards Fjord seemed to cool a fair amount, still regarding him as a pirate and a lawbreaker (not that those are inaccurate statements) but he had definitely reduced the volume of antagonising comments or their severity. When he wasn’t calling Fjord ‘Pirate’ he seemed to prefer referring to him as Tusktooth for a little while until Fjord insisted he stop and just call him by his name.

“What is it?”

“Its Fjord.”

“…Fjord Tusktooth?”

Fjord winces as he nicks his thumb while carving a new handle for the axe, the previous not holding up as well as he’d liked it to, snapping in his hand halfway through the first tree he’d tried to fell. He sucks on the blood welling in the cut, replying as he shakes his hand, as if it would help alleviate the sting or actually help distract him from how disconcerting this topic is.

“Tusktooth’s an alias. Made it up so the crew’d have something to call me. I don’t have a last name,” he replies.

“…Caleb.”

“Hm?”

He glances up from his work and Widogast is standing by the edge of the tree-line, the second pair of clothes in hand, looking hesitantly towards Fjord.

“My name. It is Caleb.” Fjord stares at Widogast- Caleb- watching him shuffle on the spot for a few uncomfortable moments before pointing further into the island. “I am going to wash up now,” he murmurs awkwardly, nodding as if satisfied with the interaction while he walks off and heads towards the small stream within the island.

Fjord won’t say he didn’t happen to glance over as the commander was undressing, catching a glimpse of pale skin and the way his lithe form moved while he let his hair loose from its partial up-do until that little voice in his head reminded him that creeping on the commander was breaching on unseemly, if not outright skeevy. He turns away quickly, clearing his throat and shuffling in place while he works.

He manages to complete his axe, working on cutting down one of the trees for firewood, not realising the commander had returned until he was sitting by his tent, watching Fjord with a critical eye.

“Yes?” Fjord’s breaths were heavy and sweat stung a little at his eyes. The sun was scorching and the humidity as atrocious as it usually was on the islands within the Lucidian Ocean, making him feel sticky and uncomfortable even after he removed his armour and shirt.

“You are convincing.”

“What?”

Caleb stood, approaching the pirate with a bitingly cold expression.

“I saw you, _leering_ while I was undressing-“

“Woah, it’s not-“

“I have heard from survivors of your exploits about your silver tongue, you are _convincing._ Enough that I almost believed your ‘Gold Hearted Villain’ schtick but I will not fall for your false declarations again, you _lecherous-_ “

Fjord ducks back when Widogast takes a rock, lobbing it at him with a slew of Zemnian curses, getting progressively louder and more vicious until he finally storms away, red-faced and furious while Fjord stands in place, trying to process what had just happened.

“I wasn’t-…It ain’t like that!”

“Leave me be, _Pirate_ ,” Caleb snaps from within the tent. Fjord stares at the side of the tent, strangling the air in frustration, stalking back to his own camp and returning to his wood-chopping, snarling as he worked, itching at an uncomfortable spot just below his ribs.

-

Caleb wakes to the sound of vomiting and hacking coughs from the other tent, long after the Pirate was prone to stirring. He had expected to see the thieving garbage wandering around at his customary time of five in the morning, oddly disciplined in his sleep schedule. But it is nearing noon and the other man has only just woken, apparently expelling all the remains of his meal the evening before. Caleb exits his tent, brushing off his coat and peering over at the other man’s campsite.

The Pirate (‘Fjord’ that traitorous little piece of his brain reminded him) is hunched over on all fours in the sand, spitting out bile at this point based on the painful sounding dry heaves. He had yet to venture towards the water today so the sheen on his skin could only be sweat, the green skin itself given a warmer tinge, belying the unhealthy flush. Fever. From illness? ‘No’, Caleb thinks to himself as he moves closer without realising he is moving at all. The man is shirtless, exposing an inflamed patch of skin, a healing wound that is not healing apparently.

“Whaddya want? I’m kinda busy,” Tusktooth sighs, pushing himself shakily to his feet.

“You were making obnoxious noises. If you die, it will be more irritating proving the skull I take with me to the empire is yours and not some _other_ pirate scum,” Caleb reasons, ignoring the minor clench in his chest.

“Well I’m fine. Tip top. Now fuck off,” the captain growls, reaching for his waterskin and swishing the water around in his mouth, spitting it on the ground before taking a proper drink.

“Your wound is infected.”

“I said ‘its fine’ and I _said ‘fuck off’_ ,” it is obvious the pirate was in no condition to enact any bodily harm on Caleb’s person, but he still returns to his tent, happening to glance over as Tusktooth is pulling on his shirt with a wince.

-

The captain becomes steadily more and more lethargic and irritable, eventually giving up entirely on doing anything productive and slumping back to his tent. Caleb does admit the still-soft part of him feels some degree of concern for the conniving bastard, not seeing him eat much if at all and the way he moved as if every shift of muscle caused him pain.

Caleb tells himself it is karma and leaves it be.

When he wakes the next morning, the twelfth day on the island, the Captain has yet to leave his tent. Caleb waits. He waits an hour. Then three. Then four. It is nearing two in the afternoon and the captain still has yet to rise.

“The empire will not believe this if you do not have a witness.”

The excuse sounds flimsy even to himself but he goes with it, stalking over to the tent and hitting one of the supports.

“Pirate. Pirate, wake up you lazy fool,” Caleb calls, ducking down to look inside. The man is pale, still coated in sweat, brow furrowed in pain and when his eyes do open for a moment, he looks delirious. Caleb crawls into the tent, hovering over Tusktooth. The man murmurs something in a language Caleb can’t understand, looking right at him with an almost reverent expression.

“Idiot. Allowing yourself to become so unwell-“ Caleb hisses, reaching out to check the man’s temperature, when Tusktooth grabs his wrist with one hand, curls the other around Caleb’s neck and pulls him down into a kiss.

He isn’t too proud to admit he panics. As soon as their lips make contact, he freezes, eyes wide and entirely unable to process what is happening. It is not that he so much ‘allows’ the kiss to happen as it is that he just doesn’t react at all, until Tusktooth pulls away, looking up at him with fever-drunk eyes and a dopey smile. Until it isn’t a smile and he is grimacing, focus gone and body shifting until he is on his side vomiting once more.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long to update kids, hope you all enjoy the new chapter, I've ditched out on tumblr so feel free to come hmu on twitter @oakyboo or, if you'd like, there's a fjordgast discord I'm a part of if you'd like a link to join <3

**_ Chapter Four _ **

Caleb started, tripping over himself as he launches away from the man currently vomiting up his guts on the base of his tent. He grimaces at the smell and the violent way Tusktooth was trembling, the little voice in his head thankful that the other man turned away before vomiting instead of during their…

No.

Caleb banished the thought from his mind, grumbling to himself as he pulls Fjord from the tent by the ankles, ignoring the grunt of pain and confusion at the sudden exposure to sunlight.

“ _Stupid pirates,”_ the zemnian spat at the inconvenience in front of him. “ _’I am Captain Tusktooth and I am immune to things like infections of wounds, or perhaps **common sense**_!’” his snide remarks receive no reply from Fjord beyond the coughing and groans as he finishes vomiting.

“I need you alive to confess to your crimes, you heaping piece of _scheiße_ , you _will not die before I become high commander,”_ Caleb’s voice seemed to get some sort of reaction out of the captain, but it was little more than a delirious glance, confused and unfocused, before he curled up on his side, fingers hovering near his ribs where the flesh was still discoloured and swollen.

An abscess, likely. Possibly some shrapnel still inside of him from when they had first fought on the seas. It would need to be cut open and cleared out, and he would need antibiotics soon if he had any chance at surviving.

“I will have you know, I am not a cleric. I do not deal with this this but,” he rambles as he pats over the man, finally finding his knife and examining it. Filthy of course. “I know my fair shade of anatomy. You should survive this. If you don’t, I will find a way to drag you back from the dead so I may have the pleasure of executing you myself _properly_ after I have become high commander,” his declaration doesn’t seem to have much of an impact but he continues nonetheless, preparing the blade for surgery while the little piece of his brain lets him know how little he actually believes that.

-

Fjord is bleary for the next few days, going in and out of consciousness, always with a constant hum of zemnian speaking in non-too-kind ways but the hands that check his temperature and make him drink and eat what he can are surprisingly light in the way they touch him. He almost thinks it’s a hallucination if it isn’t for the sneer he receives from the man when he realises he’s cognizant. Normally when Fjord fantasizes about pretty men, their lips are doing much more enticing things.

His hands are much more callused than he thought they’d be, being a mage and all, while Widogast brushes careful fingers over the now far less painful place by his ribs.

“Wha’ hap’ned?” his words are slurred and he feels the hands recede. He’s not too proud to admit he misses the contact.

“You were injured and did not clean it properly. It would have been painful but you did not notice? Or just did not say anything,” Widogast doesn’t make eye contact, he busies himself with stoking the fire and sitting himself down on the other side. Their tents are much closer together now, barely ten feet apart and Caleb seems to notice his curious look. “You would wake in the night and vomit and I did not want to wake to a long-suffocated corpse. You are _heavy_ and preserving your head would be difficult in this environment.” Fjord feels a dopey grin curling his lips as he watches the mages’ back.

“You were _worried-“_

“ _You take that back,”_ Caleb hisses, finally rounding on him, a long, charred stick pointed directly at Fjord’s chest so he can smell the smoke wafting off the end. Fjord raises his hands in surrender, closing his eyes and lying back down on…

“Did you _let me sleep on your coat_?”

Widogast throws his stick at him as he storms back to his tent, ignoring the pained snickers from the half-orc.

“You are aware enough to make jokes, then you are healthy enough to fare on your own. Good day.”

“Oh come on, _nurse Widogast,_ I’m all ill, no kiss to make it all better?”

There is silence for a moment.

“You remember that?”

Fjord’s eyes open and he can see Widogast, half kneeling out of his tent, cheeks aflame and eyes trained on the sand in front of him.

“I- What?”

“You…” the man seems uncertain, looking Fjord up and down for a moment, analysing, brow furrowed before shakes his head. “Never mind. Good day.” He leaves Fjord in the quiet of the beach, listening to the waves wash against the shore.

-

Fjord still requires time to recuperate, waking late and passing out much earlier in the evening than he is accustomed to. When he wakes the next day, Widogast’s tent is still where it was the night before, albeit empty, no sign of where the man had vanished off to. It takes far more effort than he was used to, to go about his tasks. He gives in around sundown, barely gathering enough energy to get a fire going before he finally drops down in front of it.

He’s so out of it, he doesn’t realise Widogast is back until the man is in his face, checking his eyes.

“Hey-“ Fjord bats at his hands, jostling the injury and wincing in pain. “What in the hells are you doin’?”

“You appeared disoriented. I was checking you had not lapsed back into delirium,” the man reasons. Fjord takes the mild flush to his cheeks as indignation at being brushed off like a mother hen instead of his archnemesis or whatever you’d call them.

“I’m _fine_ -“

“I have heard that many times. Including immediately before you vomited all over yourself,” Widogast points out. Fjord finally notices the large bowl in his hand, full of a few different plants and herbs. “You had a severe infection and required medicinal aid-“

“You’ve been _nursin’ me back to health_ when the entire time we’ve been here, you’ve be goin’ on _and on_ about havin’ me executed?” Fjord’s comment makes Caleb shuffle in place, embarrassed and indignant.

“I have explained _multiple times_ -“

“Bull _shit_. There’s a pile of ways to identify a dead body. Fuck, half the clerics in the kingdom can talk to the dead. Wouldn’t be hard to reanimate my skull and confirm that it’s mine.”

“That is-… _you-_ …” Widogast hesitates, clenching his jaw and turning to prepare his collection of plants, his back to Fjord when he speaks again. “I do not wish to be alone here.”

Fjord doesn’t speak. He knows Widogast’s type. God forbid a man of his standing admit he’s afraid of somethin’ in front of _anyone_ , let alone an enemy so it is best to remain silent and let him work it out.

“I am unfamiliar with being _marooned_ and it is…there are many things here that I am unsure of and uncertainty is as good as death when you are alone. You are…” Caleb glances over his shoulder at Fjord, expression smoothing out into something contemplative before it returned to its natural grimace. “You are a means for my own survival. Your death would increase the likelihood of my own, nothing more. Do not mistake it for _fondness_ or _camaraderie_. You are scum and I will delight in watching your execution _after_ we have escaped this death trap. Now eat this.” Caleb drops a bowl of paste in front of him, then sweeps off back to his own tent, snatching the bowl of berries as he goes to eat his own meal.

Fjord pokes at the mixture, it smells familiar but its definitely not something he’s ever eaten before. He has vague flashes of gentle hands and a soothing stroke of his throat to help him swallow the herbal mixture but puts it out of his mind as he starts on the bowl.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh ho hoho my friends. Have fun these next couple chapters. We're gettin' saucy in here.

**_ Chapter Five _ **

Fjord is no stranger to… _carnal_ _desires_.

He’s a pirate, there’s very little he can do to avoid either observing people indulging in the act of sex or being propositioned himself. Although it was true, he was definitely bordering on celibacy in comparison to his more…adventurous companions. He wasn’t entirely naïve or blind to the need for release at times.

He’d yet to indulge on the island, both too focused on not dying and on the predicament that is his only living companion being an absurdly attractive man.

What he doesn’t expect is to be startled out of his attempts at sleep by a grunt from the other tent. Fjord stays quiet, waiting with a hand on his dagger, and peeks out the entrance of the tent. No sign of the other man out on the beach. Another noise escapes Widogast’s tent, a breathy sigh that takes Fjord a moment to place and when he reaches understanding, all of the blood drains from his head and makes its way further down as he lies back down, trying to put the noises out of his, on the odd occasion he can hear them. The man is surprisingly quiet when he desires to be and Fjord is embarrassed to find himself straining to hear Caleb’s soft moans and sighs.

He thinks he could hear Caleb calling out after him as he scrambles out of the tent, stripping along the way to go and throw himself into the frigid cold surf, cursing at himself the entire time.

-

He refuses to look at Widogast the next day, the casual insults and barbs being completely overwhelmed by knowing what the man sounds like when he indulges himself at night.

-

The next time it occurs, he swears its louder. He can make out vowels and consonants and it. Is. Painful. He covers his ears with one of his blankets and tries to sleep.

The third time, he hears ‘please’ in a broken gasp and, over the next day, moved his tent a few feet further away much to the confusion of Widogast.

The fifth time, he hears ‘ _harder_ ’ and nearly suffocates himself with how the blanket is tangled around his head.

The ninth time, he hears ‘ _fuck me’_ and he is done.

-

When Caleb wakes again, muscles lax and eyes bleary, he is surprised to see a vacant space where the captain’s tent had been, the animal pen still in place but all signs of the captain himself were gone; as if he’d never been there.

The panic he feels well up in his chest is something not horribly unfamiliar to him but is definitely the worst he’s felt in a while and he is not willing to admit that to himself quite yet when its cause is the lack of presence of a pirate from his immediate vicinity.

He scours the beach, trying to find signs of where the man had gone, eventually realising, he hadn’t left the island, at least not from the beach they resided on. No, he had dragged his things through the trees, a straight line drawn through the dirt and back onto sand on the _other side of the island_.

“What are you doing?”

The captain startled at the accusatory voice from where he was setting up his tent, looking like the child with their hand in the proverbial cookie jar but it is covered quickly by an unapologetic, casual air.

“Felt like camping out on this side.”

Caleb narrowed his eyes, watching the man. He refused eye contact, as he had been for a number of days. He was…squirrely. _Bashful_. The man was thoroughly embarrassed by something but he had not done anything to warrant it, in Caleb’s mind.

But what if…

The captain hazarded a glance over as the gears turned in Caleb’s head, seeing him come to the realisation of what had occurred, and he held his hands up.

“I _swear_ , I’ve been tryin’. You-…You _make noises_ and I tried coverin’ my ears, I tried going for swims ‘til you were… _done_ ,” Fjord steps back as Caleb takes measured steps towards him, face blank while Fjord’s grows more flushed and frantic. “I ain’t- I’m really not like that, I’ve got _some_ morals for fuck’s sake-“ he pleads, back hitting a tree before he realises its there. Then Caleb is right in front of him, looking up at the pirate’s face, gaze calculating.

“Did you enjoy it?”

“I…sorry?”

Caleb tilts his head to the side, not missing the dart of golden eyes to his neck and the dilation of his pupils. He’s _attracted_ to him. Well. He had said Caleb was beautiful that first day on the beach. Initially thought as a snide comment but there may have been sincerity to it. The mage’s ears warmed at the recollection but he kept his expression schooled.

“Did you enjoy listening to me pleasure myself?” he asks plainly and its as though someone had cast feeblemind on Tusktooth, the sudden, entirely blank stare, lax mouth and completely lack of awareness around him.

“I-I-“

“Sentient beings, for the most part, need touch in order to maintain a healthy mental state. Contact. With others,” Caleb’s tone was that of a lecturer speaking to a hall of students but with an undercurrent of heat, the fingers of his right hand brushing against Fjord’s arm, feeling the skin prickle beneath his fingertips. “Masturbation provides release, but…well, there is only so long one can go without physical contact before they become… _desperate_.”

The vacant expression suddenly slips away and suddenly, Fjord is crowding a little closer, pressing his arm into Caleb’s hand while he looms over the human.

“’Desperate’ ain’t exactly a winnin’ argument for what I believe you’re implyin’.”

“If you were anything but a filthy pirate, I would likely have already tried to bed you, speaking frankly. My disdain for you and yours had been a powerful deterrent but…well. I will not say it hadn’t already crossed my mind,” Caleb admits, finding enjoyment in the way Fjord’s body lists towards his almost instinctively but quickly filing it away under ‘Desperate Time/Desperate Measure’, unwilling to consider that these advances are for more than anything other than keeping himself from losing it. “You are attractive, there’s little use denying that. And you seem equally as physically attracted to me.”

A smirk from the half-orc.

“See I knew you liked me-“

“Don’t misunderstand this interaction for ‘like’, Tusktooth. This would be an arrangement of convenience and necessity. I find it easier to concentrate when I have….cleared the proverbial pipes. You are just a tool.”

“Oh, keep talkin’ sweet to me like that,” he rumbles sarcastically, removing his arm from beneath Caleb’s hand and returning to his work. “Come back when you have a better line than, ‘you’re a tool’.” Caleb feels the heat of rejection sit uncomfortably in his chest and he straightens his coat, stalking off back to his campground. On the way, the reality finally settled in of what he had just done and he wants to scream.

 _Propositioning_ the scum?

He had had moments of need within the Academy, even within the ranks of the military but not to this degree, never with an enemy. He shakes his head and heads back to his tent, seeing the pile of wood left behind for the campfire that Fjord seemed to have little to no intention of returning for. While Caleb was glad it was there when the temperature dropped and he, eventually got a fire started that night, he hated its presence for the way it mocked him with thoughts of the man in a kinder light than the one he had been forcing into his mind.

The irritation doesn’t stop him, in the relative privacy of tent, from pulling himself free of his trousers, briefly picturing a pair of chapped green lips against his, curled in a smirk.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy the new chapter. Saucy stuff occurring :P

**_ Chapter Six _ **

Fjord woke to Caleb’s tent being beside his.

He’s been on the west-facing side of the island for two days and suddenly, the next morning, there was another tent. The sky is dark still, none of the light from sunrise shining on this half of the island quite yet. While he definitely preferred being able to see the transition from black to the pinks, and oranges, and eventually, that soft blue of the sky in the mornings, he preferred not dying of sexual frustration more. It doesn’t help when the object of that sexual frustration _moves his tent to follow you._

Fjord walks over to the tent, shoving the flaps of it open and calling in, the unattractive snort not breaking through the irritation and bemusement while Caleb woke, looking at him while blinking away the lingering remains of sleep.

“What are you doing?”

“…I _was_ sleeping-“

“Not-“ Fjord threw his hands in frustration, looking up to the sky quickly with a prayer to whichever gods gave a shit before looking back down at the red-haired pain in his side. “Why are you over here?”

“Because you are.”

“You’ve made absolutely clear that you like me about as much as a shit-sandwich. So why the fuck do you need to be here because I am?” Fjord’s question seems to make Caleb deeply uncomfortable, warring with himself on the answer.

“I…do not wish to be alone. Any company is better than-…” he loses the words and waves his hand around the vast, otherwise empty expanse of the island, surrounding them. Fjord lets out a huff and rubs at his face with his hands.

“I swear to the gods, I ain’t dealin’ with you throwin’ things at me again because I accidentally see you naked or hear you-“ he clears his throat and turns his face away with an embarrassed flush to his cheeks.

“If you do not wish to hear it, then you will not.”

The unspoken offer sits there in the air between them and Fjord looks down, Caleb chin jutting out like a challenge, eyes fixed on Fjord’s.

“Did you know you kissed me?”

“I _what?”_

Caleb leans back against his elbows, looking up at Fjord with a casual tilt to his head.

“While delirious, I had entered your tent when you had yet to wake and you looked up at me, said something, then kissed me,” his description of the events rang a single bell in the back of his mind, the one that reminded him he, somehow, knew what Caleb smelled like and that he knows his hand can wrap entirely around the man’s wrist.

“People do a lot of stuff when they’re delirious.”

“What was it you called me?” Caleb asks, repeating the sound of the words Fjord had spoken back in his fever-induced state of incoherence. Fjord shuffles while Caleb stares him down. “What does it mean, pirate?”

Fjord felt the indignation and anger bubble in his throat, threatening to overwhelm him. Caleb’s eyes dared him to do something; to yell, argue, throw him down on the ground and _make him_ shut up. Or tell him the truth. But the half-orc refused to give in to his petty bitching.

“…You just want a dick real bad, don’t you,” Fjord snaps, throwing the tent flap closed again and storming off, stripping himself down and heading towards the surf with the rolling sick feeling of humiliation in his gut and the echo of the words Caleb spoke in his head.

-

“I do not understand why you think my offer is insincere. We both benefit-“

“I ain’t the ‘benefits’ kind.”

Fjord was attempting to clean the wreckage of his tent, a log having rolled out of the fire in the early hours of the morning and setting his entire tent alight, adding to his already considerable pile of annoyances including the other occupant of the island. Caleb leans by a tree, watching him pick apart and scavenge what he could but very little was salvageable. He looks up, gauging the size of the leaves on the palm trees and deciding they’d be sufficient enough to form a shelter out of. It would just take time to build. Time that he would need to pay attention on something while Caleb loomed over him, teasing him with propositions of no-strings sex.

“You do not see the benefits in it for you?”

“I see the benefits, I just prefer to- I don’t even know why this is a conversation. Can we go back to you calling me ‘filth’ and throwing tantrums in your tent? Please? ‘Cause that is, by wide margin, the preferable alternative to this conversation,” Fjord huffs, looking over at Caleb and jerking back when the man is immediately in front of him, looking at him like a specimen in a cage that he hasn’t quite figured out yet. He makes a sound, curious and intrigued, then walks away, entering the thicket of trees on his own without another word.

He comes back a few hours later, while Fjord is steading the supports of his new sleeping arrangements, the afternoon sun beating down on him and reminding him why he preferred to be on the eastern side. The man looks cleaner, hair damp and tied up entirely, barring the few random strands that escaped and fall in his face. He tries to ignore the other man as much as possible but he can feel him staring at his back, glancing away whenever he tries to catch him at it.

Eventually, long after dusk, his shelter is complete and he escapes inside of it to get some semblance of privacy from the commander, stretching out on his back and closing his eyes.

-

He’s unsure how long his eyes had been closed for but he opens them when something touches him, running gentle fingers up his bare side before settling on his ribs, a firm weight pressing down over his hips. His vision is hazy but he sees the curtain of russet hair and a coy smile that looks unnatural on the commander’s face, its then that Fjord realises he’s never actually seen the man smile before. He was mostly undressed, button down shirt undone, one side slipping down a shoulder and revealing the expanse of his neck and threatening to completely overrun Fjord’s senses.

“Widogast-“

“Shh. _Please_ call me Caleb. I am so sorry for my behaviour. Could you ever forgive me?” his voice is honey-sweet, his eyes hooded as he looks down lewdly at Fjord. The captain nods his head.

“Yeah, sure, um. I don’t-“ Fjord is uncertain what is going on, his head feels fuzzy from sleep (how long had he slept?) but he blinks and Caleb is leaning down over him, one hand tracing up his chest until it rests on his jaw his nails grazing lightly at his skin. “What are you doing?”

“Whatever you’d like. I can be very accommodating,” Caleb murmurs, lips a scant few centimetres away from Fjord’s. “I know I’ve been abrasive. But its only because…well, you’re a pirate. And I’m an officer. Its just so… _forbidden_. But, if you’ll let me, I would like to make up for it,” he offers and Fjord feels all the blood rush south.

“I…you don’t…you don’t still wanna execute me do you?” Fjord asks, tongue feeling heavy in his mouth while Caleb looks horrified at the notion.

“Gods no. I’ve seen my errors. You’re a good man. Its just so hard to see past the picture my training has shown me. But I see now, I _feel_ for you now, and…Fjord, please let me do this for you. However you want to have me,” he smiles wider at Fjord’s jerky nod and breathy ‘ _yes,_ please’. Caleb presses featherlight kisses to Fjord’s chest, trailing down until he is-

_“Pirate.”_

Fjord jerks into waking as Caleb shoves his head into his shelter, vision blurry until he blinks away the sleep and sees the man that had, just a moment ago, been about to…but he is fully dressed, holding two bowls of something meaty smelling.

“There is food. I do not want to hear you complaining that I allowed you to sleep through a meal in the morning,” he insists, waiting for Fjord to hold a hand out for the bowl. Some sort of stew that made Fjord stomach rumble and remind him of how little he’d paid attention to food that day.

“Thanks.”

“…You are welcome,” Caleb replies hesitantly, remaining at the entrance of the shelter awkwardly. “Goodbye.”

“Wait-“ Fjord calls out as Caleb steps away, bringing the man’s attention back to him. “Do you still plan on executing me?” Fjord asks, out of the blue enough for Caleb to be confused by the question, shoulders tensing in uncertainty.

“…The order I have is for you to be executed,” he replies, a shade of uncertainty to his tone that Fjord holds onto as the man leaves him to his dinner, images of the smiling man from what was apparently only a vivid sexual fantasy hovering in the back of his mind.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY ITS BEEN SO LONG MY FRIENDS, HERE'S THE NEWEST GARBAGE FROM OAKYBOO, HOPE YOU ENJOY <3

**_ Chapter Seven _ **

Caleb chews on his food slowly, watching the side of Fjord’s shelter with a contemplative look. The man frustrated and confused Caleb more and more each day. He had spent hours attempting to resolve the differences between the Plank King Tusktooth he had been told about in his dossier from the acting High Commander, and the man who spent hours dividing up supplies equally (though if Caleb’s distant view of the original wreckage was accurate, left the numbers more in Caleb’s favour than Fjord’s) between himself and someone who had attempted to kill him before speaking a single word to him.

The lack of violence at Caleb’s constant goading and antagonising was also strange; unlike the stories of random acts of violence associated with Plank Kings both past and second-hand accounts of Tusktooth’s reign in Dark Tow. Caleb is almost certain his experiments and attempts to force Fjord into showing his darker nature have entirely failed.

There may be no darker nature to show. A criminal, no doubt, but not a villain by any means.

He had little, if nothing at all, to fear from the other man so long as he didn’t act violently against him first. The only matter between them that took up a fair amount of Caleb’s attention was the way he declined Caleb’s proposition.

It was fairly obvious Fjord had some sort of attraction to him. There are no chances of interruption, of obligations to take up their time, and no other romantic prospects so what is the issue.

‘ _I ain’t the benefits kind.’_

Sex isn’t unfamiliar to Caleb, not by any means.

He also isn’t unfamiliar with celibacy, but the way the pirate looked at him at times told him it was less a form of celibacy and more like poorly maintained restraint.

Only maintained because the pirate seemed to want some sort of emotional connection when it came to sexual liaisons.

Caleb wanted sex, but he doesn’t want it _that_ badly.

He washes up his bowl with his waterskin, and heads to bed, the voice of the High Commander flitting through the back of his mind, reminding him of his orders until it is drowned out by a low rumbling baritone speaking about nothing at all.

-

\--

-

Fjord wakes to screams.

He jerks upright, hand on the dagger beneath his pillow and darts out of his shelter, heading directly towards the sound until he’s immediately in front of- Widogast’s tent. He sweeps the flap open and looks inside and there’s the commander, awoken by the movement within his own space and up like a shot; but scrambles further back into the tent, hand over his mouth and the rest of his body shaking. His blue eyes are wide, catching the light of the moons as it descends over the horizon, also illuminating the streaks of tears down his cheeks.

“…Are you-“

“ _I am-_ “ the Dwendalian cuts himself off, the waver in his voice apparently too damning; as if the way his hands shake and the tears on his face aren’t noticeable enough. “I am fine,” his voice still wavers but he’s forced it into something one could vaguely consider stable as he tries to wave Fjord off, rubbing furiously at his face.

“Really?” Fjord breathes in exasperation, the adrenaline wearing off and leaving him tired from having woken up at- it can’t be later than 3 in the morning- “Its jut the two of us. What am I gonna do, tell the not-chickens that you cried ‘cause of a nightmare? No-one’s gonna punish you ‘cause of a bad dream.”

Caleb’s eyes dart to the ground.

“Holy shit. They-“ Fjord drops down onto his knees just outside Caleb’s tent, crawling over to the side of Caleb’s tent so he’s still a little in view, leaning his back against the support pole and looking out at the moon hovering over the placid waves of the sea. When he speaks next, his words are full of pity which rankles Caleb more than the intrusion itself. “They really punish you for havin’ nightmares?”

“This is not Feelings Sharing Time, I have told you, I am fine, now go back to your tent, Pirate,” Caleb spits, wiping at his face as though it would wipe away the conversation, but Fjord just sucks his teeth and waves his hand towards the beach.

“Nah. See the view of the moon’s real nice here.”

“You- it is exactly the same view 20ft to the left,” Caleb sputters, but Fjord doesn’t respond, he just sits there, listening as Caleb shuffles on his bedroll. There is silence between them, Fjord relaxing with the white noise of the water hitting the shore. He’s not going back to sleep again. He’s never been good about falling back asleep when he’s had more than two hours and something wakes him. So he’s perfectly awake when he hears Caleb’s voice from inside the tent again, quiet and hesitant.

“Have you drowned before?”

Fjord lets out a considering noise before he answers, not looking back at the other man quite yet.

“Once. No, twice…Have you?”

“…I have not.”

Fjord feels there’s something lingering underneath that not-admission, but he doesn’t push, instead telling the story about how he drowned, but it ended up not being that story. It ended up being the one where he met his current crew, how they set his boat on fire and nearly sunk the damn thing before they’d even shaken hands.

If Caleb notices the change in topic, he doesn’t say anything. But by the time he and his new crew have reached Dark Tow, Caleb has dozed off, snoring quietly while Fjord quietly leaves to begin his day just as the moon slips beneath the horizon and the sky surrounding it fades into warmer shades.

-

\--

-

When Caleb wakes next, Fjord is walking back from the beach, deciding on a swim early enough that the water has some bite to it and the sun hasn’t quite crested over the tree canopy yet. His skin is covered in goosebumps and still dripping as he gets to his shelter, clothes in hand so he can dress, just as Caleb emerges from his tent, rubbing at his eyes to remove the lingering remains of sleep. They lock eyes, Fjord quickly realising the only thing keeping Caleb from catching sight of his nethers are the clothes in his hands.

“Uh. Mornin’.”

Caleb says nothing, he just stares, eyes drifting down a little bit as he tilts his head in a considering manners.

“I already ate, so, if you…I can see you thinkin’ about it from here, are you really that hard up for it?” Fjord stammers. He ducks to the other side of the shelter, making a show of hanging his clothes over the top as he takes them piece by piece to dress even though he’d intended on drying out a little more instead of risking the uncomfortable feeling of wet clothes in humid weather.

“Hard up?”

“You’re lookin’ at me like you’re in a desert and I’m the first glass of water to show up, its…You’re gonna try to have me executed, isn’t that weird for you?” Fjord asks, pulling on his shirt as the final piece of his clothes and ducking back around his shelter, just to come face to face with Caleb. While a good six inches shorter than him, at least, the man still managed to appear as though he were looking down at him.

“I have yet to decide, in all honesty. I have some…reservations. You are not as bloodthirsty, or at least have not appeared so to me so I feel I require further insight into your…character, before I make that decision.”

“And by character you mean my dick?” Fjord deadpans, and…

Caleb laughs.

The deadpan look falls from Fjord’s face when he sees the commander smile and chuckle in sincere humour. Fjord can’t help that traitorous voice in the back of his head reminding him of the look on Caleb’s face that first day on the beach, vicious and almost animal and honestly just as attractive as the open humour on his face now.

“Both your literal character and your…other attributes. And in answer to your ‘hard up’ question- I have grown used to being able to find sex when I desired it so immediate…gratification, if something I have taken for granted. You are attractive, so I find it hard to ignore my interest in you,” Caleb explains as though talking about the weather.

“And if I’m not interested in you?”

“Are you uninterested?”

Fjord doesn’t answer.

“Unless you decide to attempt to slit my throat in my sleep, I really have no reason to harm you. My eagerness to bring you back to the Empire to be beheaded was strictly professional, based on the information I was provided about you. I have since learned that…well you are not as awful as I had been led to believe-“

“Glowing compliment there-“

“You seem to be a good person.”

Fjord’s teeth click shut with his mouth, looking down at the other man curiously. Caleb examines him like he’s a particularly complex piece of art, trying to derive hidden meanings from between his lines.

“You have shown kindness to someone who has shown you nothing but spite and ill will, you attempt to comfort them despite them pushing you away…” Caleb’s words seem more musings to himself than directed to Fjord, his eyes finally making their way back up to Fjord’s face. “And you’ve yet to tell me you are uninterested in me.”

Fjord’s tongue feels unwieldy in his mouth- a first for him being the silver-tongued bastard he normally it but not around this man apparently- but he manages to eventually get an answer out.

“You are…an attractive man.”

“And men are not your thing?”

“They are, amongst others,” Fjord’s vague hint seems to satisfy Caleb who steps a little closer so his hand can easily brush against Fjord’s arm.

“Then, perhaps we could turn this interest into satisfaction,” Caleb purrs and Fjord leans in, almost drawn to Caleb.

“God you’re a piece of shit,” he growls, pupils blown wide with lust and muscles tensing, still deciding if he’s going to push Caleb away or pull him close.

“I have been called worse. But perhaps your dirty talk could use some work. I have been known to prefer ‘sir’. But I also do not mind calling you ‘Captain’,” Caleb’s words bring heat to Fjord’s face and it takes only a moment for his to curl a hand around Caleb’s wrist and pull him towards his shelter.


	8. Chapter 8

**_ Chapter Eight _ **

Caleb is, honest to the gods, _surprised_ that worked.

The brief moment of blank shock that takes over his brain lasts until he’s led to the opening of Fjord’s shelter (practically manhandled but he’s not complaining over a little rough foreplay), then his brain resets as he’s thrown into the shelter and onto the bedroll, Fjord standing just outside, like he still hasn’t decided what he wants. Caleb props himself up on his elbows, watching Fjord with a tilt to his head; curious and calculating.

“Well?”

Fjord kneels, shuffling in just so he’s hovering over Caleb, looking down at him with blown golden eyes. One hand comes to rest just brushing Caleb’s elbow, the other keeping him up enough to not touch the commander.

“I need to know one thing before we start this,” Fjord’s voice is quiet thunder in the distance, a rumble that Caleb feels in the air between them more than hears.

“What is that?”

Fjord presses in close, still not quite touching but the tease of his lips ghosting just out of reach…

“Why do you really want to sleep with me?”

Caleb draws back, a furrow to his brow.

“What do you mean? I have expressed-“

“You’ve said you want sexual gratification. Benefits of physical contact somewhere otherwise isolated. Mental state and all that crap,” Fjord repeats, adjusting his position until he is kneeling between Caleb’s splayed legs, running gentle claws over the man’s thighs. “Weird when I can see someone’s convinced themselves but can’t convince me. I’ll fuck you when you can tell me, why do you really want to sleep with me?”

Caleb shifts, uncomfortable with this sudden change in tone.

“The answer I gave is the truth.”

“And I told you, benefits ain’t my thing. So give me a better answer or get out of my tent,” Fjord’s expression is calm. “You said you don’t want to be alone. Is that all this is? The pestering and antagonising? Pullin’ on my pigtails to tell me you like me?” he muses, watching Caleb’s lips part as he drags his thumb just in the crease of his hip.

“I do not like you,“ Caleb insists, cheeks flushing red at the intense way Fjord is looking at him.

“Well that just ain’t gonna work for me. I don’t fuck people when they don’t like me. I tried it before, not really my cup of tea,” Fjord starts to pull away but a firm hand grips around his wrist, keeping it grazing the inside of Caleb’s thigh. He looks down at Caleb; there’s conflict in them, not the cold certainty that had been present for (most of) their time on the island.

“I-…I do… _like_ you,” Caleb forces out and Fjord lets out a bark of a laugh.

“Well _that_ was convincing, lets get straight to fuckin’,” he drawls sarcastically, trying to pull back but the hold is firm. He watches Caleb curiously as he struggles to resolve whatever it is in that russet haired head of his.

“…I am not normally a social creature. I have my dalliances and then I return to my work. People _want things_ , they have ulterior motives, they lie, cheat, steal, kill for those motivations. You…You seem… _genuine_.”

“Makin’ me sound like a rarity-“

“You are,” Caleb’s eyes are unblinking as he looks into Fjord, that certainty returning. “A genuinely _kind_ person is a rarity. While your disdain for the law, for the empire, make you reprehensible, you are not… _bad_. I have grown…” he struggles for the word, muttering in Zemnian, mostly to himself as he tries to find it.

“Don’t hurt yourself diggin’ for that buried compliment,” Fjord sighs, an almost-trace of fondness laced in the sound that Caleb doesn’t seem to catch or at least doesn’t react to, but Fjord is certainly surprised by the subtle warmth in his chest.

“I do not _want_ particular people. I want satisfaction, sensation, _sex_ in general. But…I find myself actively wanting…you. To the point where it is your face on my mind most nights when I-“

“Alright, alright, enough,” Fjord’s cheeks are flushing at the idea that he’d managed to ignore for the most part since Caleb had told he’d stay quiet during his night-time indulgences. Caleb’s lips curl up in a feline grin, pushing himself up so his lips are to Fjord’s ear and the hand around the captain’s wrist slips to slowly inch his hand a little higher on his thigh, up towards the crease in his hips.

“You talked of fucking me and you still blush like a virgin when I mention how I picture you fingering me until I go blind,” he purrs, and Fjord growls, grip around Caleb’s hip tightening in either a warning or a reward, Caleb isn’t quite sure. So, he pushes a little more, as he is wont to do.

“You strike me as that kind of person. To reduce your partners to quivering wrecks beneath you or under your hand before you have even thought of coming. Is my assessment accurate?” Caleb feels Fjord’s body tense, his thumb stroking over the thin sliver of skin exposed between his breeches and his shirt. “What is your preferred ratio? Your partner comes three times, you come once? I bet it is only when they are delirious with lust and beg you to fill them-”

The squeak he lets out when Fjord grips his hips and pulls him in closer isn’t dignified in the least but it is quickly replace by a soft sigh of relief when the man sets his lips to Caleb’s neck, worrying a mark into the flesh while his hands slide beneath his shirt and up the commander’s ribs, exploring the skin. He pauses when he touches Caleb’s back and the commander freezes.

“Hands on my arse or nowhere at all,” he drops the lascivious tone, now cold and unmoving. Fjord’s fingers trace the edge of the raised, rough skin beneath the tips before dragging them back down until his hands are firmly grasping Caleb’s ass, using the new hold to grind the other man’s hips into his. Caleb feels the lips separate from his skin and tries to pull back a little further to drag Fjord into a kiss, but is stopped by a firm hand on his chest and a silent shake of the head, the look in Fjord’s eyes is a little pained…and ashamed?

Caleb nudges the hand from his chest and instead focuses on removing the man’s shirt. He’d seen his bare form a few times, but never so close. There were small pockmarks, pale strokes across his skin where he’d taken a blade and it had left behind a scar but for the most part, the skin was smooth. He drags his fingers over the man’s pectorals, inching further and further down until he is undoing the captain’s pants.

“Are you that type too? The-“ Fjord’s words peter of with a gasp and a sigh as Caleb’s hand slips beneath his clothing and draws out his already substantial erection, teasing with light handed strokes. “The ‘I’ll come when you do?’ type?” he manages, head tilting forward until it rests on the other man’s shoulder, his lips and teeth grazing the pale skin before him. Caleb hums thoughtfully.

“No. I am not. I prefer to take what I want and play with what remains.”

Fjord’s eyes finally meet his and Caleb is taken a little aback at the colour. Little flecks of blue at the edges of the gold that seem to flicker in and out of existence. Caleb manages to make a mental note despite the way Fjord rolls his hips and noses at Caleb’s jaw.

“Clothes on or off?” Fjord murmurs. Caleb gives Fjord’s cock another idle stroke.

“Yours off...my shirt on.”

“Pants?”

“It will be hard to fuck me blind with my pants still on but you are welcome to try,” he gives Fjord a challenging look, bright blue eyes beneath hooded eyes and the groan that comes out is almost entirely unintentional as he practically rips Caleb’s pants down to his knees, pushing the other man back down onto the bedroll. Caleb goes to sit back up again but only makes it up to his elbows before he stops, watching as Fjord licks and nips his way down, teeth grazing flesh and making Caleb’s heart stutter in his chest each time and a little sigh escape his lips when Fjord’s mouth finally makes it to his erection. There’s a moment of teasing, the careful way he removes Caleb’s smalls and gives the flesh a few glancing strokes, concentrating particularly hard on making a vivid purple mark on the inside of the wizard’s thigh.

While he would normally focus on getting to the ‘main event’ so to speak, Caleb was enjoying watching the slow process of Fjord getting acquainted with the normally covered skin of his thighs and hips, a gasp slipping out when Fjord’s tongue drags from base to tip before he wraps his lips around the tip. He worries at the slit with his tongue, bobbing his head and getting more in each with each downward motion until he just allows the entire length of Caleb’s cock rest in his throat, shifting his tongue over the sensitive skin while he swallows around the tip.

“ _Fuck,_ you are-,” Caleb grunts in irritation when Fjord pins his hips down, denying him the friction he _needs_ within the hot, wet mouth around him. “A cockwarmer is not something I would have thought for a pirate king,” he’s panting a little, a breathy ‘ah’ slipping through when Fjord shifts a little, swallowing around the length again before he slides off, moving back to hovering over the slim man beneath him.

“I like using my mouth,” He replies, hand curling around Caleb and stroking idly while he worries another mark on the other man’s shoulder.

Caleb makes no comment on the obvious avoidance of kissing and just hums thoughtfully, closing his eyes and enjoying the sensation of someone else working over his cock.

His skin flushes and his body warms as the sensation ramps up with no sign of Fjord moving them further along in their activities.

“Are you waiting for the empire to arrive before you stick your cock in me because I will tell you, audiences are not one of my kinks,” Caleb growls, feeling the man pause, a not-kiss pressed to his shoulder as he pulls back.

“How about gags? Because I’m tryin’ to work and you’re distractin’.”

“Then work faster and I will not be inclined-“ Fjord stands up and leaves the shelter and Caleb sits upright, stammering as the man walks out of view. “Are you really so sensitive?” Caleb calls out, frustration bubbling in his chest until Fjord returns, a thick plant stalk in his hand. Aloe.

“Are you? I’m not fuckin’ you dry so unless you’ve got some oil around that isn’t for the lamps, lie back down so I can get you ready.”

Caleb grunts out a reply but follows the instruction, a little hum of satisfaction at the return of the warm body against him while Fjord coats his fingers in the slick gel from the plant stem, finally pressing them up against Caleb’s entrance with little fanfare. He slides one finger in easily and Fjord looks down at him with narrowed eyes, questioning.

“I am not the first person to finger themselves when masturbating.”

“I…I haven’t hear-“

“I told you, if you wanted to hear me, you would. I was waiting for you to ask. In the meantime, my coat sleeve makes a sufficient gag,” Caleb sighs at the pleasant feeling of contact, shifting when Fjord slides another finger in with little issue, pressing in and sliding out a few times before scissoring his ass, getting just enough give to slide in a third and Caleb keens a little at the sensation. Fjord’s fingers are thicker than his, the mild stretch he’d get with own fingers now a delicious burn with the captain’s.

“Gods above you’re desperate to get fucked,” Fjord breathes, stroking Caleb’s inner walls until he finds that bundle of nerves that makes Caleb twitch and gasp.

“ _Fuck_.”

“That’s the idea,” Fjord teases, settling himself back between Caleb’s legs and leaving marks across his thighs. Caleb gets close embarrassingly fast, caught between the man’s fingers working his prostate relentlessly while his lips graze over the tip of his cock, tongue darting out to lick at the head.

“I am getting close,” Caleb warns, seeing the mischievous gleam in Fjord’s golden eyes. Then the man wraps his lips around Caleb’s cock and sucks and the shout that comes out of Caleb’s throat is entirely involuntary, followed by gasps and whines as Fjord works at his cock, fingers pressing in as deep as they’d go in his ass until Caleb lets out a long loud moan, Fjord swallowing down his release with no hesitation while he kept Caleb’s hips pinned down with his free hand as they jerked a little in small aborted thrusts.

Caleb allows himself a moment to breathe, his cock giving a weak twitch when he sees Fjord wipe at his mouth with the back of his hand, the other slowing in its movements until it is just inside him, keeping him full while he comes down.

“Are you going to fuck me, or not?”

“Its like you said,” Fjord’s voice is low and raspy, wrecked from Caleb’s cock and oh that is something that will haunt Caleb’s dreams to come while Fjord drags his nails over the man’s thighs, a considering expression on his face. “I’ve gotta make you come three times before I do.”

“That-…You actually-“

“My record’s seven. I don’t expect you to beat that but I’d sure like to keep you from bein’ a liar,” Fjord’s face disappears from view when he ducks back down onto his belly, lower between Caleb’s legs this time. He feels Fjord’s chuckle more than hears it when the man presses his face between Caleb’s cheeks, tongue stroking over his slick and loose rim before plunging in alongside his three fingers, making Caleb writhe and twitch, oversensitivity making his skin hot and dragging noises out of him that he’d find embarrassing anywhere else, but here with no one to hear their activities, the small part of his mind still aware didn’t seem to mind.

Fjord works him over for a fair time, taking small breaths every now and them until Caleb is gripping the man’s hair, then he remains in place until the wizard’s cock spurts weakly, the second orgasm leaving Caleb breathless and his head fuzzy.

“Fjord,” the man whines, looking down at the smug and satisfied look on the pirate’s face.

“Yes?” his fingers maintain their slow drag on his insides and Caleb gasps, hips twitching again and legs spreading open as far as he can comfortable go. “You want something?” he teases. Caleb’s hands have moved from Fjord’s hair to his own, fingers twisting in the red strands and pulling a little to try and bring himself back to focus but his brain refuses to cooperate, preferring to sit in the hum of nothing that good orgasms tended to leave.

“ _Please_ ,” his voice is barely recognisable, a pitchy mess of desperation that makes Fjord’s slick and abused lips part and a groan escapes his throat.

“Say it for me,” he breathes, words gentle but his fingers press against Caleb’s prostate again. Caleb’s eyes roll back and he tries to speak but all that comes out are stammers and aborted half words. “Do you want me to fuck you? _To fill you up_ ,” he purrs and Caleb nods emphatically, rushed ‘please’s falling from his lips as Fjord grips Caleb’s thighs and drags him in closer, hips raised in his lap and Fjord still upright on his knees.

The initial slide of Fjord’s cock is enough to make the wizard cry, that feeling of fullness, of heat and girth that his fingers are never able to achieve while Fjord groans above him.

“Gods above you look a wreck,” Fjord muses, rolling his hips and dragging a gasp from the other man who has tangled his fingers in the blankets, words having escaped him. He thrusts slow and deep at first, moving faster and faster until Caleb is crying out, wordless but the way he grips Fjord’s wrists where his hands are clamped around Caleb’s hips and meets every thrust as best he can is a good indication that he’s still enjoying the overstimulation.

Fjord is close, the heat and spasming around his cock as Caleb comes _again_ , dry this time but the way his back arches and he _screams_ is enough to nudge Fjord just to the edge.

“Can I come on you?” he pants. Caleb shakes his head.

“In me, _please_ ,” Caleb pants and that, with the hazy blue eyes looking up at him hungrily, pink tongue darting over his lips pushes Fjord over, burying himself as deeply within the other man as possible and enjoying the gasp and moan Caleb lets out at the feeling of his release filling him, rolling his hips until he’s been milked dry, allowing himself to remain inside Caleb for a moment.

“You good?” Fjord asks, voice low and hesitant. Caleb lets out a small noise and nods, arm thrown over his eyes while he catches his breath. “I’m gonna-“

Caleb shifts back enough for Fjord to slip out, his cum dribbling down onto the bedroll from Caleb’s hole and Fjord grunts in annoyance but Caleb waves his hand once, failing to make the normally simple enough gestures, trying again and succeeding as the mess is removed, making Fjord’s eyes narrow.

“You can still cast?”

“Only…only that, really. Simple spell. Just cleans up,” he pants, taking a long deep breath as he tries to settle the unpleasant emptiness between his legs enough for him to sit up, grabbing his pants from where they’d been thrown in the fray. Fjord watches him, face carefully blank while Caleb dresses. “What?”

“…Nothing,” Fjord lies but Caleb doesn’t comment. “I’m going for a swim,” he grunts, letting his own pants slide the rest of the way down so he is bare to the world. Caleb enjoys the view as he walks off but can’t help the unsettling feeling in his chest.

He says nothing.


	9. Chapter 9

**_ Chapter Nine _ **

Fjord returns from his swim, body exhausted but mind still roiling. The sun is setting on the horizon, the only shadow cast across the sand stretches behind Caleb, who sits on the beach watching Fjord emerge from the water with a blank expression, clothes in a pile beside him. Fjord takes them without a word and without a look directly at Caleb, ignoring the pointed staring as he pulls his clothes on quickly, ignoring the way they stick uncomfortably to his body from the water.

“Would you like to…talk?” Caleb’s words are cautious, far more so than he’s sounded before this, still looking up at Fjord while the pirate fastens the ties on his pants, eyes trained on the sand.

“No.”

Fjord walks towards the camp without a look towards the other man.

-

Caleb’s attempts at conversation are stilted, met with either laconic replies or complete silence. Fjord wasn’t inclined to chat, still warding off the prickling feeling of déjà vu in the back of his head. Red hair, a sharp mind, an even sharper tongue. There were definitely parallels between the commander and Fjord’s last attempt at ‘no strings’ sex and they leave him feeling unsettled.

He was in the middle of eating when Caleb approaches him, dragging one of the sections of log they used as chairs over to sit immediately in front of Fjord, he would be looking the captain directly in the eyes if Fjord weren’t trained intensely on his bowl of stew.

“I would have thought the Plank King of Dark Tow would be above the silent treatment,” Caleb goads, receiving nothing in reply. “You are upset.”

Still nothing. Fjord chews his food slowly, pretending that Caleb isn’t there at all. The wizard stares, eyes narrowed and hands clasped in front of his mouth as he observes the pirate, watching for any reaction but the man was a blank slate. He’s gotten reactions before. He just needs to strike the right chords.

“Were your delicate sensibilities offended by us fucking without declaring our undying love for each other?” his words get a flicker of acknowledgement, a slow blink as he pauses mid-chew, as though composing himself. “Would it help if I swooned and fell into your arms-“

“Just stop.”

Fjord’s golden eyes lock onto his and Caleb felt a light shiver run down his spine at the intensity of the stare.

“You don’t wanna head down this road, Widogast.”

“Oh? And why is that?” Caleb keeps his face placid, even as Fjord swallows the last bite of his food and places the bowl down, resting his elbows on his knees as he meets Caleb’s gaze, looking as calm and collected as someone chatting over tea in a parlour rather than discussing the unpleasant aspects of their time together the day before.

“You lied.”

Caleb tilts his head to the side, taken aback.

“I have not lied.”

“You can cast spells without components-“ Fjord begins, stopping with a grind of his teeth when Caleb scoffs in indignation.

“It is not casting in general that requires components. Only certain spells,” Caleb repeats a similar gesture he’d made the day before within Fjord’s shelter, clipped words in a different language flowing from his lips and the fire beside them extinguishes. Another gesture, another phrase and a new fire is created in its place. He watches the fire crackle for a moment before he peers over at Fjord, whose face is still fairly blank, but he’s betrayed by the twitch in his clasped hands and the tightening in his jaw. “And beside that, you never asked me if I could.”

“I told you-“

“’Lose the spell shit. Or you lose your hands. Your choice,’” Caleb parrots back in an almost perfect copy of Fjord’s accent, not looking quite smug, but definitely satisfied. “I dropped all of my components as requested.”

“You coulda cast at any time. I’ll be damned twice if there’s not a single offensive spell in your repertoire that doesn’t work the same way,” Fjord snaps, standing from his seat and stalking back around the other side, putting a little more distance between them.

“I never said I could not cast,” Caleb repeats, receiving the same look of irritation from Fjord.

“A lie of omission is still a lie,” he bites out, “I don’t appreciate liars, however the fuck they decide to do it.”

“Is it the magic you are so bothered about? Or something else you think I have lied about?” Caleb poses to Fjord, looking entirely unbothered by the growing agitation the other man displays. Fjord’s scowl deepens and Caleb looks intrigued. “I have not lied to you-“

“What makes you think I should believe you?”

Caleb’s mouth closes. Fjord stares at him, daring him to answer. Caleb returns his gaze, focus shifting into distance, looking at nothing in particular as he seems to come to a decision.

“What-“ Fjord watches as Caleb stands, removing his coat, then his shirt until his upper body is on display and Fjord feels his lungs freeze in his chest for a moment.

Scars.

All over his upper body, patches of skin burned and long healed, gouges, slashes criss-crossing over his ribs and spreading around towards his back. He didn’t notice then in the distance when he first saw Caleb by the river. The shadows and light playing off of the marks made it hard to focus on but when Caleb took a step or two closer, the marks were in plain view in the firelight.

“If I am open with you, then you will believe my intentions, _ja_?” his tone is casual but Fjord can practically hear the rabbiting of his heart from where he stands, see the tension in his body from the now exposed muscles. “I want to become High Commander. Because when I do, I will be the second most powerful person in the Dwendalian Empire, second only to King Dwendal himself. And when I tell Dwendal that Trent Ikathon needs to be executed for the atrocities he has committed, I will be unquestioned by anyone but him and allowed to provide my evidence,” he says, blue eyes burning with conviction.

“Caleb-“

“I will be able to show them what was done to me. Tell them what was done to-…to my friends,” he says while his eyes go out of focus for a moment, moving to a point on Fjord’s shoulder rather than his face. “I have not lied to you intentionally nor do I intend to in the future. So, what is it that you believe I lied about before yesterday?”

Fjord is quiet, keeping his distance from Caleb out of both concern for Caleb’s need for it and because his own but it doesn’t stop him from tracing the scars with his eyes.

“You said you needed more time to figure out if you should let them execute me,” Fjord murmurs.

“…Yes.”

“…And my execution,” he walks around the log, taking slow, careful steps closer to Caleb until he’s standing in front of him, not quite touching but giving Caleb more than enough opportunity to broach that distance. “My execution is the only thing standin’ between you and your justice. But you’re still…you’re still hesitatin’.”

Caleb stares resolutely forward.

“Caleb-“

“Whether that is the case or not,” his voice wavers a little and Fjord feels his heart _thum-thump_ in his chest. “Is the matter clear now? I did not lie. Now will you stop ignoring me like a chil-“

Fjord swoops in and captures his lips in a breath-taking kiss, one hand buried in his hair, the other arm curled around his waist so he could pull Caleb in close and it takes Caleb a moment to register what’s going on and for him to cautiously return the kiss. It grows more and more heated, Fjord’s tongue tracing over his teeth while Caleb’s hands rest hesitantly on Fjord’s chest. When Fjord pulls away, he only does so just enough to look Caleb in the eyes, the wizard flushed down to his chest and eyes blown with arousal. 

“You-…you kissed-“

“If its all the same to you, I’d like to go to the tent and have a go at breakin’ my record. Think I can make you come eight times before we stop?” Fjord breathes and Caleb finds himself nodding, letting out a quick shout of surprise as Fjord picks him up, practically throwing him over his shoulder to take him over to his shelter.


End file.
